


The Nephew Materialization

by eggsbenni221



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types, The Big Bang Theory (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, Humor, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 23:14:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11451072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggsbenni221/pseuds/eggsbenni221
Summary: Mark Darcy's 16 year-old, super-genius nephew, whom he's never met, is visiting from America, and Mark and Bridget agree to have him to stay. What could possibly go wrong? (A/U.





	The Nephew Materialization

**Author's Note:**

> This story is inspired by a short sketch that my dear dear friend, wrote for me severl years ago, to cheer me up during a difficult time I was having. She kindly granted me permission to take over the plot bunny, because I thought it had brilliant potential, and this is the result. I've had to abandon all timeline continuity in both the BJD and BBT universes to make this work, and I do hope you will forgive any liberties I've taken. All typos are mine; please don't hesitate to call them to my attention. Kudos and comments are welcome; this is my first multifandom work.

Mark Darcy leaned against the edge of the desk in his study, phone pressed to his ear, brow furrowed as he listened to the voice on the other end. 

“He won’t be any trouble; at least, he tends to keep to himself,” said Peter, trying to inject a note of reassurance into his tone. “I suppose the university could have easily accommodated him during his stay, but he’s—that is. . . his mother—she worries about him.”   
To this point, Mark had had little to say beyond the occasional monosyllabic indication that he was paying attention; now, he murmured, “Of course, that’s perfectly understandable.”   
“So you’ll do it, then?” asked his brother. When Mark didn’t respond immediately, he added, “I know it’s rather an imposition, and I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it necessary, but he needs to be within easy distance of the university, and--”   
“Peter,” Mark interrupted hastily, “Please don’t misunderstand me; I’m happy to do what I can, and of course it’s only right that he should stay with us; we’re family, even if we’ve never been introduced.”   
“I know that might make the situation a bit awkward,” Peter admitted.   
“Well, as to that, perhaps if he can arrange to arrive a week or so before term begins, that can give us some time to get acquainted; it’s somewhat short notice, but I could rearrange my schedule to take a few days away from chambers, and I’m sure Bridget would be happy to show him the sights.”   
“you’d be doing me a tremendous favor, Mark,” said his brother.   
“Not at all,” Mark assured him. “It’s high time I got to know him; he’s my only nephew, after all. He sounds like quite an intelligent boy, from all you’ve told me.”   
Peter chuckled. “He has an IQ of 187, Mark, but he insists that his actual IQ can’t be measured by normal standards. I think intelligent is something of an understatement.”   
Mark joined in his brother’s laughter. “Right. Well, let me just talk things over with Bridget, and I’ll let you know.” 

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Mark promised to contact Peter soon to finalize arrangements and put down the phone. He sat still for several moments, drumming his fingers against the edge of his desk as he contemplated his situation. In truth, the prospect of meeting his self-proclaimed, super-genius nephew did fill Mark with apprehension, but he also had to confess that he’d always harbored a deep curiosity about the boy. Over the years, Mark had remained as close to his brother as circumstances permitted; Peter’s residence in Hong Kong rendered visiting infrequent and challenging, if not altogether impossible, and they’d seen each other only a handful of times within the past several years; in fact, their last meeting had been on the occasion of Mark and Bridget’s wedding, just two years previous.   
Though the brothers had done their utmost to remain in contact despite the long distance between them, Mark had unfortunately never had occasion to meet his nephew—the result of a short-lived marriage between Peter and a young woman he’d met while working for an investment firm in New York following the completion of his studies at university. Mark knew little of the woman—had in fact met her only twice, once when Peter had brought her over to England after their engagement, and once at their wedding. She was an American, originally from Texas. “Of all places!” Elaine Darcy was frequently fond of exclaiming. They had resided in New York for the duration of their marriage, which had turned rocky following the birth of their only son. They’d tried for several years to keep the relationship from crumbling, but when Peter had received a generous job offer in Hong Kong, and his wife hadn’t wanted to relocate, the opportunity seemed a ready-made excuse to admit that the marriage was no longer working. The couple had divorced, Peter had moved to Hong Kong, and his now ex-wife had returned to her home town with the boy. Mark new that Peter visited him occasionally and sometimes took him for part of the summer holidays. Malcolm and Elaine Darcy had contrived to plan several of their visits to Peter to coincide with their grandson’s trips to Hong Kong, so had managed to strike up an acquaintance, if not a close bond with him. Unfortunately, Mark had never managed to plan his own rare visits with his brother to coincide with his nephew’s, and Peter had never managed to find an opportunity to bring him to England.   
Thus it was that Mark had a 16-year-old nephew whom he’d never set eyes on. Well, he thought, he certainly had ample opportunity to make up for lost time now. Of course, he still had to discuss the matter with Bridget. Sighing, Mark stood, left the study, and made his way to the kitchen, deciding that Bridget might appreciate a glass of wine; not that he supposed she’d object to Peter’s request, but it never hurt to be armed.   
Bridget glanced up from her book as Mark entered the living-room; she’d stretched herself on the sofa but now tucked her legs beneath her to make room for him.   
“Oh, aren’t you sweet,” she said, smiling as she eyed the two glasses he held. He handed one to her, claimed the other for himself, and took his seat beside her. “How’s peter?”   
“He’s well,” replied Mark, absently swirling the wine in his glass as he considered how to proceed.   
“You were on the phone with him for quite a while; any news?”   
Mark swallowed a sip of wine before responding. “As it happens, yes. We’re expecting company.”   
Bridget’s eyes brightened. “Oh! Is he coming to stay? That will be so lovely for you, Mark; you haven’t seen each other since our wedding.”   
“No, not exactly; it’s, well. . . you’ve heard me mention my nephew—Peter’s son?”   
Bridget frowned, thinking; then nodded. “Oh, yes, the super-genius with an IQ higher than God, or something. What’s his name again?”   
“Sheldon,” said Mark.   
“Right, Super Sheldon, the super-genius. You’ve never met him before, I think you said; is Peter bringing him over?”   
“Not—not precisely. He’s—well. . .” Mark hesitated. “Peter’s asked me—asked us, that is—if Sheldon can. . . stay with us.”   
For several moments, Bridget simply stared; then, fortifying herself with a sip of her own wine, she said, in a would-be casual tone, “Here? In this house? With us?”   
Mark nodded. “That was the idea, yes. He’s coming here for a program at the University of London, apparently.”   
“Aha.” A gleam of comprehension lit Bridget’s eyes. “So he’s coming to study?”   
“Visiting professor, actually.” Mark couldn’t blame Bridget for the look of incredulity that passed across her face; he didn’t know if he believed it himself.   
“Mark,” she said slowly, “you can’t be serious. I mean, you said he’s a super-genius, and all, but, well, he’s 16.”   
“yes, and he has a PhD, and is slated to begin work on his second in the fall at the California Institute of Technology.”   
Bridget appeared even more puzzled at this. “Why? I’d think one PhD would be more than enough trouble.”   
Mark chuckled. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”   
“It takes all kinds, I guess,” said Bridget. “So, how long will he be staying with us?”   
“Six weeks.” To her credit, Mark observed, Bridget maintained her composure, choosing only to avail herself of another swallow of wine before speaking again.   
“And. . . when does he arrive?”   
“Next Thursday,” said Mark.   
“Well, that seems like a reasonable amount of time to prepare for a rocket scientist.”   
“Yes, and while we’re on the subject, he detests being referred to as a rocket scientist, apparently.”   
“Oh, well, we’ll just stick with super-genius then.”   
“I believe,” said Mark, “that he’s a physicist.”   
“Oh! Like Stephen Hawking or something?”   
“I. . . suppose so. Peter said he does something with string theory, I think it’s called.”   
“String Theory,” murmured Bridget.   
“Not the kind of string you’re thinking of,” Mark quipped, trying and failing to suppress a grin.   
Bridget folded her arms and glared at him. “Oh, I get it. I wondered why you seemed nervous about telling me what was going on; you think I’m going to say something stupid and embarrass myself—or you.”   
Mark sighed, deeply regretting his moment of levity. “Of course not, love; it’s just that your ideas about string tend to be associated with culinary rather than scientific experiments.”   
“Well,” she snapped, “you needn’t be so hoity-toity about it.”   
“Honestly, Bridget, I don’t know any more about physics than you do, but come on; tell me what’s bothering you.”   
“It’s nothing,” Bridget protested. “It’s only, well. . . what in the world are we going to do with him!”   
Mark smiled. “If that’s your worry, you needn’t concern yourself. I don’t think we’ll have to ‘do’ much with him, as you put it; I imagine he’ll be spending most of his time at the university and won’t need to be entertained. Besides,” he added, “he’s certainly old enough that accidentally leaving him in a shop shouldn’t be a problem.”   
“Mark, you’re not helping.”   
“really, Bridget, he can’t be that bad; he’s 50% Darcy, after all.”   
“That’s just what I’m afraid of,” muttered Bridget.   
“Sweetheart,” murmured Mark, pulling her into a consoling hug, “don’t worry; just be yourself, and I promise he’ll love you—just as you are.”   
Bridget smiled tentatively. “Are you sure?”   
“Well, as a matter of fact. . . no. From all Peter’s told me, he’s quite antisocial.”   
“Well then, you and he should get on famously,” Bridget replied. “I wonder if all Darcy men are genetically predisposed to consider themselves above their company.”   
“Very funny,” Mark grumbled.   
“Well,” Bridget said bracingly, draining the remaining contents of her wine glass, “one week; let the countdown begin!” 

\----------  
When the hired car that had collected Sheldon from the airport deposited him in front of the house, Mark stood waiting at the front door to greet him, taking in the boy’s appearance as he entered. He was tall—his height nearly on a level with his uncle’s. He stood nervously running a hand through his brown hair, examining his surroundings with piercing blue eyes.   
Finally, he spoke in clear, American-accented English, the syllables clipped and crisp, as if he’d carefully ironed each word. “Hello. I suppose you must be my Uncle Mark.”   
“Yes, yes, I am, and you must be Sheldon. I’m glad to meet you at last; your father speaks very highly of you.”   
“Oh, no,” the boy said abruptly when Mark extended a hand.   
Mark arched a brow, puzzled. “I’m. . . sorry?”   
“I never shake hands,” Sheldon explained. “I abhor all human contact, the noted exception being life-threatening circumstances involving the Heimlich maneuver. The risk of germ contamination is too great, and until man achieves the ability to download his consciousness to a machine, or until I can construct a satisfactory mobile virtual presence device, I must guard this flimsy, mortal shell with care.”   
‘Well, off to a promising start,’ Mark thought. Aloud he said, withdrawing his hand, “Of course.” He paused, then added, “I hope you had a pleasant journey.”   
“It was tolerable,” replied Sheldon. “Thank you for graciously opening your home to me.”   
Surprised at this abrupt display of cordiality, Mark smiled. “We’re delighted to have you. When your father told me you were coming to London, I realized I would be remiss if I didn’t finally avail myself of the chance to get acquainted with you.”   
“My father made me promise to say that,” Sheldon confessed. “I apparently lack the capacity to observe polite social conventions. I’d appreciate it if you’d inform him that I complied with his request that I observe the nicety of showing gratitude for your hospitality.”   
“I’ll be sure to tell him,” Mark assured the boy, silently adding, ‘That’s not all I plan to tell him.’ Mark had often been accused of being withdrawn and socially awkward, but beside this socially inept young man who appeared to lack even the most basic brain-to-mouth filter, Mark thought he could credit himself with being positively gregarious. Mercifully, before he endeavored to fill the awkward silence, Bridget appeared from the kitchen, where she’d been checking on the progress of dinner.   
“I thought I heard voices,” she said, smiling warmly at Sheldon as she came forward to greet him.   
“Sheldon,” said Mark, stepping in to make the introductions, “I’d like you to meet my wife, your—um, Aunt Bridget.”   
“Oh,” she laughed, “you can just call me Bridget.” Before Mark could interject, she extended a hand in welcome.   
“Oh, I don’t shake hands,” said Sheldon.   
“Yes, we needn’t go into all of that just now,” Mark said hastily, casting his wife an ‘I’ll explain later’ look in response to her puzzled expression.   
“Well,” said Bridget, taking the situation in stride, “we’re so glad you could come to stay for a few weeks; I hope we can make you comfortable while you’re hear.”   
“I’m never comfortable,” replied Sheldon, “but I appreciate your efforts, of course.”   
Mark decided that now might be an appropriate moment to end the meet-and-greet. “Right, well, Bridget, why don’t you show Sheldon where he’ll be staying and let him get settled in? Then we can have a proper chat over supper.”   
“Excellent,” said Sheldon. “I like sausage, mushrooms, and light olives on my pizza.”   
Bridget glanced at Mark, brows raised. “Oh, well, did you want—we weren’t sure--”  
“Thursday is always pizza night. I did give my father strict instructions to send along the schedule; my digestive system has become accustomed to a strict dietary regimen.” As Mark and Bridget watched in speechless amazement, the boy reached into his backpack and withdrew a detailed calendar, which he handed to Mark. “I should also inform you that I adhere to a strict bathroom schedule; I believe one’s bowels should be properly regulated at all times, and,” he added pointedly, “I’d appreciate it if you’d refrain from hootenannies, sing-alongs, raucous laughter, clinking of glasses, celebratory gunfire, and loud, energetic coitus after 10.00 PM.” His words were initially met with stunned silence.   
“Well,” said Mark, eventually finding his voice, “we can discuss the. . . particulars of your accommodations over dinner, which,” he added, “unfortunately won’t be pizza this evening.”   
Sheldon shrugged. “Very well. I’ve made allowances for the occasional variable; ‘Anything can happen Thursday’ was scheduled for next week, but under the circumstances, I suppose I can be flexible.” With that, he followed Bridget upstairs, while Mark decided to avail himself of the opportunity to take inventory of the whiskey supply. 

Mark had initially anticipated chatting politely, if somewhat awkwardly with his nephew and getting better acquainted with him over a leisurely dinner; now he realized that the moment Sheldon had taken up residence under their roof, leisure and peace had fled, likely not to return for the next six weeks. Bridget, bless her, endeavored to maintain a flow of conversation that at least proved enlightening if not enjoyable.   
“So, Sheldon, Mark tells me you’ll be teaching at the University of London while you’re here; that’s really impressive.”   
“I know,” replied Sheldon, and Mark wondered if, despite the vastness of his knowledge of the workings of the universe, the boy had ever learned the definition of the word humility.   
Choosing to overlook his blatant arrogance, Mark inquired, “What’s the subject of your lectures?”   
“Topological insulators and thermodynamic fluctuations.”   
“Um. . .” Mark hesitated. “You do realize that meant nothing to me?”   
“Of course,” said Sheldon. “I wouldn’t expect it to make sense.”   
“But I’m curious,” Bridget chimed in. “And I’m sorry if this is a stupid question.”   
“It’s all right,” said Sheldon. “I’ve grown used to conversing with inferior beings.”   
Yet again, Mark swallowed back a reprimand as Bridget plunged on. “Um, well, I just wondered, what is it that you do, exactly?”   
“I’m a physicist.”   
Bridget nodded. “I know, but I mean, what do you do?”   
A gleam of excitement suddenly replaced the undisguised disdain and boredom in Sheldon’s eyes. “That’s an excellent question!”   
Bridget beamed. “Thank you.”   
“But to understand that, we must first ask ourselves, ‘What is Physics?’” Sheldon cleared his throat. “Physics comes from the ancient Greek word physica. Physica means the science of natural things, and it is there, in ancient Greece, that our story begins--”   
“Hang on,” Bridget interrupted while Mark, suppressing a smile, reached to refill her wine glass.   
“I’m going to have to ask you to hold all questions till the end,” said Sheldon.   
“No, I mean, can you just fast-forward through all of that and, you know, tell me what you do?”   
Sheldon sat still for a moment, drumming his fingers against the edge of the table as he considered the question. “Well,” he said finally, “The universe, as I’m sure you’re aware, is immensely complex. For ages, we’ve struggled to answer some of the deepest questions about the origins of the universe—what is the world made of, for instance? Where did it, and we, come from? All ordinary matter is made of atoms, which consist of just three basic particles—electrons, protons, and neutrons.” As Sheldon spoke, Mark observed the instant transformation he underwent—the light in his eyes, the straightening of his posture, the intense animation in his face. “In Physics,” he continued, “we basically look at these fundamental building blocks that make up the world and the forces through which these building blocks interact.”   
Bridget nodded. “That actually makes a bit of sense.”   
“good practice,” Mark interjected, “for delivering your lectures.”   
Sheldon frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he murmured. “I suppose it would be useful to be able to break down my impressive body of knowledge into easily-digestible morsels that the average mortal can swallow.”   
“I wouldn’t have put it precisely like that,” said Mark, “but yes; it’s a useful human relations skill.” Grateful that his nephew was at least being communicative, if not pleasant, he asked, “When did you first develop an interest in science?”   
“When I was 5,” said Sheldon. “I wrote a paper for a science project in grade school: ‘A Proof that Algebraic Topology can Never Have a Non-Self Contradictory Set of Abelian Groups.”   
Bridget blinked. “Um. . . right. Why don’t I just, uh, grab dessert?” 

“So,” Mark said several hours later while he and Bridget readied themselves for bed, after Sheldon had retreated to his room. “What did you think?”   
Bridget took her time cleaning her teeth before replying. “Just one thing,” she said finally, turning to face him. “What did you ever do to Peter? Because this feels a lot like payback.”   
Mark smiled. “Sheldon is certainly going to be a bit. . . challenging.”   
Bridget arched a brow. “Challenging? Seriously? Mark, he thinks I’m an idiot!”   
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Bridget, but he thinks everyone is an idiot, with the possible exceptions of Stephen hawking and Albert Einstein.”   
“Thanks,” she mumbled as she turned toward the bedroom. “That helps a lot.” After a moment, she added, “And he looks a bit like a praying mantis.”   
Mark laughed; then noticed that Bridget still seemed troubled. “Bridget,” he murmured, slipping into bed beside her and pulling her to his chest, “what’s wrong? Did Sheldon say something that upset you? I mean, he’s arrogant and condescending, and I’m not excusing his behavior, but it just seems to be his way; I don’t think he meant to offend you personally.”   
Bridget chewed pensively on her lower lip. “It’s not that,” she whispered. “It’s just, well. . . I feel a bit sorry for him. He seems really lonely.” Mark smiled at the tenderness in her voice. “He talked to me for a bit when you left the room to take that phone call from Giles. Mark, I think he’s had a really hard time growing up; I don’t think very many people have been kind to him.”   
“I’d imagine not,” said Mark. “I got the impression that socialization has never been Sheldon’s strong point.”   
Bridget nodded. “I think he felt really singled out; imagine skipping so many grades in school—being a 9-year-old boy surrounded by obnoxious, whippersnapper teenagers. He might have been smarter than all of them, but inside, he was just a little boy, and that combined with him being a sort of intellectual giant must have made it hard for him to fit in. I don’t think he really learned how to socialize either; it sounds sort of like his mum humored him a bit too much. He says she always told him that he’s ‘one of God’s special little people.”   
“oh God.” Mark winced. “He’s special, all right. Frankly, he’d really be quite enjoyable company if he had even the barest development of social skills.”   
“Did Peter tell you any of this?” asked Bridget.   
“A vague sketch, yes, but naturally, he’s never had heavy involvement in Sheldon’s day-to-day life, and Sheldon doesn’t strike me as the sort of child who’d be eager to open up, though I’m not surprised he opened up to you,” Mark added softly, stroking the edge of his thumb across her cheek. Looking at her—at the genuine concern shining in her eyes, he saw a glimpse of the mother she might be. Aloud he said, “It isn’t entirely Peter’s fault, of course; it’s the nature of divorce, and the practicalities of not living closer to him. If I recall, Sheldon was quite young when Peter and his wife separated; he couldn’t have been older than 4, and it couldn’t have been easy for them to establish a solid relationship. Still, my father always said he thought Peter might have made more of an effort with the boy, and I think I’m beginning to understand what he meant. Boys want dependable role-models. I don’t mean to suggest that his mother’s single parenting is at the root of his problems,” he added when Bridget opened her lips to protest. “After spending just one evening with Sheldon, I’m inclined to feel more sympathy and admiration for his mother than any desire to criticize her ability to raise him. That said. . .” He hesitated, then added quietly, briefly averting his eyes, “boys want a positive male influence—a man they can look up to.”   
“Mark, I know Sheldon’s going to be with us for a while, and we’re going to need to establish some ground-rules. I know you’re going to want to enforce some discipline,” said Bridget.   
“He certainly needs it,” Mark observed.   
“I know,” agreed Bridget. “I’m not arguing with that, but I think, well, let’s really try to be kind to him. I think that’s what he needs more than anything else.”   
Again, Mark smiled; he pulled her closer and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I think you’re right.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I've taken most biographical information about Sheldon from the Big Bang Theory Wiki: http://bigbangtheory.wiki.com/wikia/Sheldon_Cooper. The noted exception, of course, is my own addition to Sheldon's backstory in order to link him to Peter Darcy.   
> 2\. Some of Sheldon’s dialogue in this chapter is lifted directly from or inspired by season 3, episode 10, “The Gorilla Experiment,” season 4, episode 24, “The Roommate Transmogrification,” and season 5, episode 16, “The Vacation Solution.”


End file.
